Fear
by ModernNerd
Summary: The development of Horatio's feelings for Mariah. Set during Loyalty.


**Disclaimer: We don't own it, although we did get a really good deal on the collector's set on Amazon. **

**Spoilers: If you haven't seen the films, why are you even here? **

**Setting: Throughout **_**Loyalty**_**.**

**A/N: We love the series, although Horatio gets on our nerves. He is just so two-dimensional. Everything is about loyalty for him. You be loyal to him and he'll be loyal to you. He can do no wrong. Only Horatio could commit mutiny and get promoted for it. But nothing irritates us more than his attitude towards Mariah. It feels like he just marries her because it is his duty. He just wants to make her feel better. We were re-watching the series and we just couldn't watch **_**Duty**_** until we had written a story that would convince us and others that he really did love her. Originally ModernScribe had published this on her account, but obviously we've moved it. So without further ado, we present....**

**Fear**

It began with need; he needed a cheap place to lodge and she needed a lodger.

When he first met her, he thought her attractive, if a bit flamboyant. She didn't try to hide her emotions, especially her obvious attraction to him. She was the kind of woman that cried openly and smiled at even the hint of a joke. In contrast, he was the kind of man that only displayed the emotional extremes to varying, limited degrees.

As time wore on, she became a kind of fixture in his life, like a wardrobe, appreciated but not noticed. She was his ally in the ongoing battle against his landlady. Her comforting voice kept the silence at bay and her constant presence drove away the shadows. Beyond that, she was simply Mariah, his landlady's daughter.

Occasionally his friends at the officer's club he often frequented when his debt piled up would inquire if he had a lady, to which he remained silent. When they took to teasing him about his apparent lack of social life, he merely smiled complacently and ducked his head. He had no need for a lady; the sea was his true love and home.

When he got his new command, he should have been happy, and he was, but a part of him hesitated to pack his trunk. As he stood on the dock holding the gloves she had made him, watching her small form retreat, that same part of him ached for some unknown reason. But he was home and that was all that mattered.

As the days passed and the distance between his ship and England expanded, the ache grew. He felt as if something was missing, like he had left something important like a beloved watch or a favorite hat behind. Even the soft splash of the ocean spray against the deck couldn't drown out the cold silence in his ready room. Ever so often, his gaze would fall on the gray gloves resting on their shelf and the ache would intensify for a moment before receding back to its corner.

When his short mission was completed and he ordered a course to England, the tightness in his chest seemed to loosen somewhat. His first thought when they docked at port was to visit her and her mother. Even finding her in prison for bankruptcy couldn't lessen the joy that suddenly filled him when he caught sight of her. She seemed even more beautiful than he remembered despite her current location. He was surprised when she hugged him, but was even more surprised with how right she felt in his arms.

Then her mother reminded him of his profession and the dangers he took every day. He bid her farewell.

Back on his ship, he tried to reason with himself. Her mother was right. It would not do to develop feelings for a woman he could never be with. No woman—especially not one of her beauty—should be chained to a man that could provide no security. Living on the ocean was like living with an ax above your head: each day it was a miracle if you woke up alive. And so he packed away the gloves and threw himself into his duties, determined to forget her.

It was not until he was staring down the nose of a rifle on a beach in France that he realized how pointless his attempts to put her out of his mind forever were. All that he could think about was her round and smiling face, her soft and caring voice, her small hands in his large ones. He had to fight—he had to live—for her.

The trip home seemed endless. Each night he lay awake going over all the reasons this was wrong, and each night he went to sleep dreaming of her.

When he finally stood outside her house less than a week later, he once again reminded himself why they could never work. He consoled himself with the fact that he had never seen any indication that she had anything more than a schoolgirl-like crush on him.

Then he entered the house and her eyes met his. He could barely control the urge to beam and kiss her where she stood. But he did. Ever the gentleman, he allowed a final, lingering glance before turning and walking away.

Her mother met him at the door. She told him how her daughter had wept when he went away. It took him a few moments to process this information. This could mean only one thing.

Without pausing to think, he moved swiftly back into the kitchen where she was sitting at the table crying silently to herself. Before he could reconsider, he asked the question he had been dreaming of asking her since that day on the beach. It wasn't until she was crying happy tears into his neck that he realized what he had done.

He had just doomed the woman he loved to a life of constant worry and fear. He had cursed her forever.

It began with need; it ended with fear.


End file.
